


Cherry Wine

by hanwritessolo



Series: Objects of Mass Destruction and Affection [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 23:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanwritessolo/pseuds/hanwritessolo
Summary: Words that remain unsaid never truly leave you. They tend to age with time, resurfacing when fate plays a nasty trick—such as when you run into an ex you could not quite forget.





	Cherry Wine

The moment your eyes meet his, you feel as if the pavement has shifted beneath you.

You force yourself to look away, but Cor’s eyes is still the same shade of blue—tantalizing, magnetic. Insomnia is an enormous metropolis, and you only wish that this is either a mere hallucination or a cruel jape that there is someone out there who looks exactly like Cor. But that is not the case. Cor really is standing a few feet away, in the middle of this bustling street of dreamcatcher stalls and secondhand book carts, and somewhere in this madness, an eccentric jazz player sitting at the front steps of a church is serenading the scurrying crowd with a syrupy, nostalgic tune. Even at this distance, you can see Cor wearing the same shell-shocked expression that you yourself are wearing.

So you smile. And he smiles, too.

And must he be this awfully handsome, even after all this time?

As soon as he begins to march to your direction, your heart marches along in a beat that you have not felt in a while. And in that beat, you begin to count the years you have not seen Cor. How long has it been since you and Cor parted ways? Two years, you surmise—or perhaps, more than that. More than two years since the both of you decided to amicably end a five-year relationship of tumultuous ups and downs, of passionate nights in bed, of bravely weathering the storm. The storm that was always about his job at the Crownsguard. The hurricane that was about him never putting any consideration on his own life.

Still, it was a good run, those five years.

The two years that came after were an empty, numbing blur.

So you swallow the sudden mourning that threatens to resurface and chew it into a bright grin. You straighten up, tucking your hair behind your ear, and hoping for the best that there isn’t anything stuck between your teeth as Cor stops just right in front of you.

“Hi there—long time no see,” he greets, lips sweetened into that charming smile of his, the one he rarely lets anyone see except for you.

“Hello,” you greet back, and in the short seconds you catch a whiff of his clean and crisp cologne, and stay in this awfully close proximity that stings and chafes, you begin to wonder if he smiles this smile of his to anyone in particular. Or if he still listens to the vintage record you gave him, or if he still relishes on cherry wine that he surprisingly enjoyed on your many indoor dates, or any of your favorite things that you have lovingly shared with him. Or if your wave goodbye and your last kiss is now a wave hello and a first kiss with someone new.

Because whoever said that absence makes the heart grow fonder was probably lying.

Because by now, you are positively sure that absence makes the heart grow flowers of unsaid words, a vineyard of regrets that you harvest and ferment, letting it age like a fine wine, all bottled up, waiting for the most inopportune moment to burst at the seams.

Because even after all this time, you cannot prefer Cor to be a stranger. You sorely miss being his, sorely miss the sound of your name on his lips, like an oath he has sworn to protect, to keep, to cherish.

So when Cor asks you how you’ve been, you choke on your misery and your misery swallows you, and you only manage to say, “I’m fine.”

The little strain in your voice might have been evident, and there is a silence that suddenly lingers between the both of you, loud and heavy with a strong desire to say everything that has been left unsaid.

Because what you really wanted to say was, _I hope we tried harder._

And what Cor had wanted to say in that moment was, _I still love you even after all these years._

 


End file.
